


(i think so, I think so)

by stut_ter



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stut_ter/pseuds/stut_ter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a gift for mandapanda04 for her birthday.  She wanted Kurt and Blaine going to their double feature of All About Eve and Showgirls to be a front for more...and then Burt finding out about it.</p><p>I hope beyond hope that she likes it and it does her idea justice!</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i think so, I think so)

Blaine keeps his word until about halfway through All About Eve.

He doesn’t push anything or make it feel like a date. Kurt buys his own SnoCaps and Blaine buys his own Swedish Fish - although Kurt steals some. They even both have their own water bottles, though Blaine finishes his first and needs to take some of Kurt’s too - the product of too many gummy fish in his mouth.

He follows the rules until Eve is all rolled up in her lies. Then he casually puts his hand down, palm up, next to Kurt.

Just in case.

He watches Kurt out of the corner of his eye, the four other couples in the theater much closer to the front and definitely out of eyeshot. He knows the moment Kurt sees his hand because his head jerks up quickly to see if Blaine’s watching. He doesn’t look away, just keeps his face calm.

 _If I react, one way or another, I’ll spook him_ he thinks, waiting.

It pays off, Kurt’s lips breaking into a tiny smile as he shakes his head and threads his fingertips through Blaine’s, twining them together.

His heart beats and his lungs pull air, he knows because he’s not dead or passed out, but none of that matters compared to the points of pressure where Kurt’s palm and his own are touching; to the shiver-tingle of Kurt’s fingertips resting on his knuckles. None of that matters compared to the riotous triumph rolling through his veins at Kurt’s small gesture of connectedness.

He doesn’t intend to start anything, though, because honestly Kurt keeps moving around in his seat so Blaine just happens to trace his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles. Completely innocently.

Three or four times, max.

But then he can’t stop, really, because there are little intakes of breath when he brushes Kurt’s thumb with his own and then his actual whispered name when he pulls his hand away just a little to trace along Kurt’s palm, Blaine’s fingertips tracing his lifeline, his heartline...his loveline. It isn’t _his_ fault that Kurt’s hands are sensitive.

But they are, and in moments Kurt is whispering his name again as he traces the inside of Kurt’s wrist with tiny, barely-there touches that he knows incite Kurt like nothing else. He’s using both hands, now, and it really _isn’t_ fair of him but he can’t really bring himself to stop - not when his _friend_ is taking shallow breaths and thinking about other things Blaine can do with his hands, no doubt.

In the end, Blaine really sees it as _Kurt_ who pushes the limit, as he loosens Blaine’s grip and then brings Blaine’s right hand up to his lips.

Blaine forgets how to breathe, then, when he feels not Kurt’s lips but his tongue, the tiny perfect tip of it, traces the first knuckle of Blaine’s index finger, his lips hovering wetly just above Blaine’s heated skin.

He looks over and Kurt’s eyes on are on him, eyes innocent and wide, almost daring Blaine to pull away.

He mouths it without speaking, his lips forming the words.

_stop_

Kurt pouts his bottom lip out, Blaine hand still held firm just below his chin and then shakes his head.

And winks. The bastard.

And Blaine catches his breath as Kurt licks the next knuckle. Then the next, keeping Blaine’s eye in the flickering low light of the theater while he licks at Blaine’s knuckles circling them and then, on the pinky, draws it to his tongue to give it an open-mouthed kiss.

Blaine groans and says Kurt’s name. Just once, low and breathless and that’s when all hell breaks loose. Kurt turns his hand over and runs his tongue over his palm, tiny licks and bites that make Blaine bite his lip and uncross his legs to relieve the pressure in his pants.

 _”This is three thousand percent unfair,_ he hisses, watching as Kurt’s tongue laps delicately at the tip of his thumb, his lips curling up in a smug smile. He kisses the inside of Blaine’s wrist once, then bites softly, drawing an undignified whimper from Blaine’s mouth that he covers abruptly, his right hand pulled free from Kurt’s grasp.

He’s glad his hand is where it is, though, because Kurt’s is in his lap, stroking him, rough but slow, through his trousers and he simply cannot keep quiet, desire flowing freely through his veins, the memory of Kurt’s mouth on him the night before clear and enticing.

He doesn’t stop, the movie continuing with Blaine gripping the battered theater armrests, Kurt’s hand languidly touching him, stroking him, making him shiver and wait, never working him enough to bring him too close.

Blaine can feel himself sweating, hear his breath coming quick. He occasionally glances at Kurt, who is always stoically focused on the climax of the movie, which Blaine can’t quite seem to keep every sexual fantasy he’s ever had about Kurt - under him, over him, between his thighs, in his ass, around his cock, in his mouth - out of his head. His head is swimming, the fucking need to be _naked_ and touching Kurt a tangible thing at this point when the movie finally ends and the lights come up for an intermission.

“Do you need more Swedish Fish?” Kurt asks, hand returned to his own lap as he smiles demurely at Blaine.

Blaine blinks at him and lets a confident smile settle on his face as he leans in, his lips close to Kurt’s ear.

“Oh, we’re not staying,” he says, feeling Kurt jolt below him. “We’re getting up, walking calmly out of the theater and getting into the navigator where you will drive us to your house. My mouth will be on your cock, but you’re going to ignore it as best you can and get us there safely. When we get there, you are fucking me one way or another and there won’t be any arguments. Nod if you’re ready.”

He pulls back and Kurt’s nodding, his cheeks a furious red that stains down into the collar of his shirt and Blaine smiles at him calmly, cocking his head in a “shall we” gesture that pushes Kurt to move, his coat over his crotch.

***

Kurt pushes him up the walkway, his mouth on Blaine’s neck and his hands in the back pockets of his pants, kneading the curves of his ass and Blaine could light the entire city with his arousal alone. He still has the tang of Kurt’s cock on his tongue, Kurt’s fantasies in his ears. He can’t wait to do what Kurt had suggested and they’re fighting for control of the doorknob, Kurt hip-checking him out of the way.

“It’s my house,” he hisses, pushing Blaine back as he fumbles with his keys and Blaine pushes him, too.

“Your dad _loves_ me,” he says, producing his own key.

Kurt stands still, looking from the key to Blaine and back.

“You kept it, I mean-”

“Uh, yeah,” Blaine says, rolling his eyes. “Loves. Me.” He taps his own chest and then Kurt giggles, kicking at him and pushing open the door.

“ _Someone’s_ full of themselves tonight,” Kurt says, before he’s pressed against the wall, Blaine’s hands in his hair, his lips taking Kurt’s mouth. 

_Finally._

They kiss, more desperate than in the Prius, more desperate than in the hotel room because this is not fueled by the romance of a wedding or the spectre of someone else wanting the other. This is pure need and want and I-don’t-care-what-happens-anymore-I-just-need-you-here. They both know Kurt leaves in the morning, goes back to whatever will happen with the guy he’s seeing and his life at NYADA. But tonight is theirs again, and Blaine’s not missing a minute of it.

“Come downstairs,” Kurt whispers, mindful of his dad and Carole moving above them, and Blaine hangs his jacket on the back of the chair, his wallet thumping lightly to the ground.

***

“Like this?” he gasps, closing his thighs around Kurt’s cock and feeling it slip, perfect glide beneath his balls, through the lube and hot-hard against his skin.

“Yeah-yeah,” Kurt stutters out, his naked body wrapped tight against Blaine’s back, equally naked and shining with sweat.

They had stripped quickly, mouths tangled and smarting from use as socks and pants and underclothes were lost on the carpet. Blaine found himself losing track of where his skin ended and Kurt’s began, his hips rutting down against Kurt’s as he climbed on top of his very best friend and pulled his shirt free, their cocks pressed hard and fast against each other as Kurt whimpered and bucked, begging Blaine for _more, closer_.

Which is how he finds himself here, Kurt’s hand fisting his cock in perfect counterpoint to his thrusts between Blaine’s legs, both of them forgetting to be quiet in the still of the basement as Kurt fucks him, both on their right sides and every thrust bringing them closer.

“I love-” Blaine can’t breathe, and his hips buck as he comes over Kurt’s fist, his words choked and caught in his throat as he shudders and his hips thrust back, bringing Kurt closer. 

“-it, I love it,” he finishes, as Kurt shouts out into the stillness, coating Blaine’s thighs and sliding through his own come as he finishes his thrusts and stills, breathing against Blaine’s back, hot puffs of air against sticky-sweat skin.

***

Kurt watches him dress, his curfew later than normal but there nonetheless.

“Enjoy your flight,” Blaine says, and then crawls across the mattress, intending to kiss Kurt one more time.

He doesn’t. Not with the way Kurt holds himself slightly away, the moment over.

But Blaine doesn’t let it deter him, doesn’t let the what-ifs take over his mind as he pats Kurt’s hand and wishes him well, not sparing Kurt another glance as he bounds up the stairs.

He reminds himself to breathe as he collects his jacket quickly and lets himself out.

***

Twenty minutes and a phone call to his mother later, Blaine lets himself into the kitchen quietly, not wanting to bother any of the Hummel-Hudson’s but still needing his wallet.

He tiptoes to the table and looks under it, sure that must be where it is, when the light comes on.

“Forget something?” Burt asks, his blue robe knotted at the waist and a soft smile on his face.

Blaine ducks his head and bites his lip, and then finds the courage _somewhere_ to look Kurt’s dad in the face.

“I-yeah.” He says. _Eloquent._

“You okay?” Burt’s question, leveled at him with so many layers Blaine could actually cry at how quickly one person can find his vulnerabilities. It’s not surprising, really, since the other person who can do it is this man’s son.

“I...I hope we will be, sir.” Blaine looks at him, hoping to convey as much hope and confidence he can in his gaze without saying how much the hope may kill him in the end.

“Me too, kid,” Burt says, handing him his wallet. 

“Me, too.”


End file.
